


Sociopaths, Murder And... Kittens?

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kittens, and im going to stop now because otherwise ill look completely raving (which i am, cleo vera wilbur and terrence, john has a kitten obsession and sherlock most certainly doesn't, this is silly, those are the kitties, yeh SPOIL ALERT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John gets four kittens and Sherlock finds them increasingly distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sociopaths, Murder And... Kittens?

John was walking home from the grocer’s one day (Sherlock still didn’t seem the least bit interested in such “inane, monotonous chores”, though John still had some vague, desperate hope that one day Sherlock would stop putting heads in the freezer and go out and buy some milk, for Christ’s sake) And decided to take a detour through a little alley. Most of the time there were homeless people or drug dealers down this way, and John saw a suspicious looking man, with bundles of something in his coat. 

“Hey you.” John kept walking. “You! Wanna buy a-“ 

“I’m not interested, thanks.” Said John shortly. He didn’t have time for this; he had wanted to get back to the flat faster.

“But you look like a good guy, a guy with kids and a family and a nice home. These babies need a nice home.”

“I’m not inter- Wait, pardon me? Babies?” The man smiled, revealing yellowed, chipping teeth. Then he let his cloak hang loose. Out tumbled, furry and wonderful, four-

“Kittens? You’re selling kittens on the street?”

“Yep. Don’t have room for them back home. Can’t afford those extra mouths.”

“Well, I’ll take them then.” John did find the idea of a tough-looking man selling kittens on the street rather odd, but they were just so cute and fluffy and lovable John was frankly overwhelmed. One of them tottered towards him, weaving between his legs. He handed the man a fifty, scooped up the kittens and was gone.

***

“John. John. John.” 

“What is it, Sherlock.”

“Why are there kittens. What are they doing.” One of the kittens was climbing up Sherlock’s pants.

“I bought them. On the street.”

“You went to buy eggs and you came back with four kittens. Why, John.” John looked adoringly at the kitten on his lap.

“Because you won’t go out and buy food!”

“What on earth does that have to do with it?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have met the kitten-dealing-man if you’d perhaps gone to get groceries, just this once. Really, it’s entirely your fault.”

“John. The kittens are not my fault. I am taking these kittens to the pound, where they belong. They could have diseases, John.”

“You are not taking Terrence. Or Vera or Cleo or Wilbur.”

“John, have you honestly named them. You don’t even know what sexes they are.” He shook his head, looking at John reproachfully, as if by bringing kittens into the house he had broken some sacred rule. “By the way, the one on your lap is female. So is the one,” He shook his leg. “Currently attached to my pants. The other two are male.”

“Good.” John looked down at the one is his lap. “I christen you Vera.” His face was deadly serious.

“Really, John. How do you expect me to think with this,” He vigorously stamped his foot. “brainless,” he kicked the air. “blasted cat on my leg!

“Her name is Cleo.” Said John in a hurt tone.

“No John, this is ridiculous. The cats go.”

“They stay, Sherlock. They help me think.”

“Well they aren’t helping me!”

At this moment Mrs. Hudson walked in, saw the kittens and let out a squeal of joy.

“Oh, aren’t they precious. What are their names, dear?” She turned to John. He pointed them out in turn.

“This one’s Vera,” the quietly purring one on his lap. “That one’s Cleo,” the one using Sherlock’s leg as a scratching post. “This is Wilbur,” the one now tussling with Cleo, who had stopped scratching on Sherlock’s pants. “And this is Terrence.” Terrence looked up innocently, occasionally batting at the two fighting kittens. He seemed mischievous. John looked down at them fondly.

Mrs. Hudson seemed quite pleased and said:

“Lovely names, dear. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes thanks, Mrs. Hudson.”

“And me as well, I suppose.” Sherlock looked grumpy. Almost imperceptibly grumpy, but John was by now fairly expert at reading the slight trembles and tweaks of Sherlock’s face, and when the muscle in the corner of his mouth twitched, he was annoyed.

“Come now Sherlock, don’t let the kittens spoil your appetite.” Sherlock sighed and stood up, stretching his limbs and arching his back. Then they headed downstairs together.

***

The next day, a man came in for a case involving a missing daughter and her recently deceased boyfriend. The daughter went missing on a camping trip in the woods with her boyfriend, and weeks later her boyfriend stumbled out of the forest screaming and wailing before he dropped dead. Bullet to the head, gun was found in his hands, only prints on it were his. Suspected suicide. 

Sherlock was intrigued. It was an easy case, but at least it was a case. They’d had a rather slow and boring month. So he accepted. Anything to distract him from those cats. John was doting over them like a mother hen, much to everyone’s (except John’s) amusement.

So he set out to Bristol, where the boyfriend had lived with his girlfriend, looking for evidence. Meanwhile, John sat at home, covered in purring balls of fur. When Sherlock arrived later that night, Cleo bounded up to him and did a little tumble, landing right at his feet. She was very eager to be friends with Sherlock, even though Sherlock refused to show any affection towards her. John thought this very cute (then again, he sort of thought everything the kittens did -from destroying furniture to coughing up hairballs- was very cute. It might have just been a John thing.)

Cleo, when not given attention, began to meow loudly, scratching at Sherlock for his attention.

“John. John. John! Will you please get this bloody cat off me!” John scooped Cleo up easily and left the room huffily. Sherlock swore he heard him mutter,

“Sherlock, her name is Cleo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yep soooo… that’s all for now! Hope you weren’t counting on much else! I doubt you were, because there aren’t a whole lot of you and the ones that are here probably got here by accident! I love you all anyway because I’m completely and utterly bonkers.


End file.
